Holocron
by Wangan
Summary: It came the day I triggered. I learned from it. I studied it. But I had never used it in it's entirety until the day I made the best and worst decision of my life. After all it's rather hard to build an Empire when the heroes aren't on your side.
1. Chapter 1

I see them before they see me. The trio and their hangers on all gathered around the front doors of the classroom 'talking' but angled in such a way that makes it clear that they wouldn't miss me among the crowd of students.

I don't duck away quickly like I usually do. I had once feared them, and now that fear had turned into a cold hate.

Sophia is the first to point me out, and though she's smiling it's easy to see the edges of frustration lining it. I have been managing to avoid her and the others for a solid week, It's probably getting to her bad that her favorite punching bag isn't around very often. Like dominos, their eyes fall on me as I walk towards them and they move like a wave to intercept.

I can imagine they plan to cut me off, corner me in a semi-circle to play their juvenile games.

I let them, mostly because I need proof. Proof that someone in this school would actually do their job.

They start their verbal prodding and, much like with Gladly's lessons, I tune them out and start thinking as my eyes fall on Emma.

It's amazing what the smallest things can do to a person. A single virus, which is by definition, a parasite, can kill the human body in the most gruesome, horrific ways. A single change in a fetus' chromosome can have a child suffering from autism or a birth defect. Or even the point of a needle injecting a flu vaccine.

Yet nothing is smaller than the vibration of air. Sound can't be touched, but it can hurt. It can deafen or in the case of what is about to happen, break when it's coming out of the wrong person. In most cases since that day with the locker, all it had done was motivate me to find increasingly creative ways to end and repay the suffering I had endured.

And suffering it had been.

I can still remember the fear that I felt as I pounded and kicked the locker door with every bit of strength my body could manage. Even the pain when the result of that action, which was a broken left foot and lacerated right forearm, was dulled. There was no anger or hatred, just fear…and panic.

A terrible feeling of panic that could only have come from some primal part of my brain. The part that wanted to survive. That wanted out.

I have no doubt they were smiling as I begged, they certainly laughed. They had enjoyed my terror, my utter horror at the realization that I would not escape and would not be released. I don't like to think about what happened after that. Just suffice it to say that it had been a bad day, a very bad day indeed.

The memory would not be so… mortifying if it had not been so easy for them to get away with it. Just the thought of it angered me to the point of violence. Later, after recovering from a week long coma and being forced to accept the school's hush money because our insurance couldn't cover all our hospital bills, all I could think of was killing everyone involved in a particularly spectacular fashion.

Now however, I had mellowed out for lack of another term.

The door to the classroom opens and Gladly steps out. The girls don't stop, either they don't care that he's there or don't see him. My guess is on the former. I look right at him as he turns and sees us. He makes eye contact with me. Clearly, he can see the situation and there are no ifs about it. My back is pressed up against the lockers, the girls surround me, packed close enough to not allow me any space to get through, and I'm certain he can hear the things being said.

He pauses for just a moment, then turns to walk down the hall...in the other direction.

I should've expected that. I'd been shown time and time again that no a single teacher or staff memeber of this school wanted to do their jobs even when the evidence had been right in front of their eye. It should've been no surprise. But it was.

In some small hopeful corner in the back of my mind, I wanted to believe that Gladly's concern had been genuine. I knew it wasn't but I had wanted to believe it. So it stung, badly.

That sting must have shown on my face.

"Aww, what's the matter, Taylor?" My attention was pulled from the injustice done to me as I looked back at Emma. "You look upset."

I had learned that the phrase (or some variation of) 'the people that can hurt you most are the ones closest to you' was true. Yet even though it came from Emma, even when I was prepared and long since numbed myself to her bile, nothing could have readied me for the poison that came from her lips.

"So upset you're going to cry yourself to sleep for a straight week?"

That sentence, this small insignificant jumble of air vibrations that not even a cow would care about, ran me through like a blade. In that small single hallway, Gladly's back retreating from the situation, I was left breathless. For a single moment, I was struck dumb by her cruelty. And then by her pettiness. And then by her...smallness. "Have you always been so ugly, Emma?"

The words came unprompted but not unwelcome. How insignificant she had to be in order to use such an event to hurt me. To leverage my mother' death for pain. Even the agast look on her face from my words seemed to be the reaction of a shallow mind, at the insult, at my gall, to say that rather than the horribleness of her own actions.

In some way, it was like looking into a mirror of what once was. The true other end of the scale from a best friend.

What was the point of her doing this? In fact, what was the point of her at all? I felt something change in me as I looked over the terrible trio and their hangers-on. Every one of their faces held expectant glee for a breakdown which would never come. It was clear that Emma had to have told them just how personal this was for me. I think what surprised me more than anything was their entire lack of empathy. How they were taking joy in such personal pain when it could easily be anyone of them in my place.

Again I found myself surprised, this time by myself. When the shock faded I half-expected to see red from such a personal betrayal. To have every sense flooded with hatred so poisonous and fury so blinding that I wouldn't know up from down. Yet there was just disappointment and bitterness when I grabbed the Force.

A disappointment mirrored on the faces of my bullies when I didn't so much as sniffle.

I had realized my mistake when dealing with these...creatures. Thinking of them as people with family, with hopes and dreams, instead of the non-persons they were. The things they were couldn't be reasoned with or argued down.

As I raised my hand, at least one part of me screaming for reason, about what I would lose if I did this. About the pain I would put Dad through. About the fact I couldn't survive being a criminal on the run. The rest of me argued back, that I had the knowledge and skill that would allow me to survive. That I was far from weak. That I didn't have to kill them.

Just destroy them.

Still the argument had me pause. Should I do this? This would be a path I wouldn't step back from. I would be on the run for the rest of my life. If I was caught, prison would be the least of my worries.

Hand half raised, I hesitated. Emma must have mistaken my actions as fear, considering I was contemplating the pros and cons of something far in the other direction.

The smack echoed through the hall as I found myself on the receiving end of a vicious slap. This time I didn't surprise myself. It wasn't even hard for the hate and pain to bubble up to the surface. All it took were the memories of abuse; the memories of helplessness, of inconsolable fury and my anger rose like a storm. My power answered immediately.

With that my decision was made. Don't kill.

Maim.

"How dare yo-Hey!?"

My intent must have shown on my face because Sophia stepped forward in front of Emma, much to the other's protest. I can only assume she was expecting me to throw a punch. How wrong she was. I lash out my hand and let my rage flow through it.

She was just quick enough to get in the way as lightning exploded from my fingertips right into her chest. It hit the black girl with such force, it knocked her off her feet and sent her flying down the hall. With a casual flick of my wrist the current carried her to the left, bouncing her off some of the lockers before she hit the floor. She didn't even have time to scream.

I will never forget the look on Emma's face as long as I live. The feeling of being feared by my tormenter was amazing… _indescribable_. She was frozen, staring at me like I had turned into Scion right in front of her. Mouth, spitting such hate before, opening and closing like a fish out of water. That gave me enough time to grab the hand that slapped me, fingers in my left, wrist in the right, I poured the Force into my body and squeezed until it felt less like a hand and more like soft clay in my grip.

I listened to her screams as I let go, her hand little more than a deformed appendage, useless and limp like a puppet with no strings. She collapsed to the floor, weeping, sniveling, sobbing, cradling her useless hand in the crook of her other arm. The hall was in chaos by now.

The hangers-on plus Madison were already gone. The crowds in the hallway split in two different directions in a desperate mob rush to get away. The noise was terrible, voices cursing and screaming, but my ears only focused on one sound, on one voice.

I looked down at my best tormentor and she looked at me, pale, tears and snot streaking her face, and...

I can't help but curl my lip at the puddle that formed around her legs, staining her skirt. Even at my most pathetic, at my lowest point, I at least managed to keep some modicum of decency.

I don't bother saying anything, I let everything that needed to be out as I glare at her before I turn to leave.

I make out the slight thump of her body hitting the floor behind me. I don't look back.

* * *

My trip home was fast. Using the assistance of the Force to both increase my speed and lengthen my endurance what would've been a rather long walk became a fifteen minute journey at a full sprint.

I wasted no time hurrying inside, throwing the door shut behind me. I'm not breathing as hard as

I expected to be, I barely feel winded. Still even if I was, I have no time to rest. The police will know my name and face soon, if they don't already have it and the PRT or Protectorate will be at my door shortly after.

The very first thing I do after locking the door is check to make sure Dad was not home. His schedule had been in flux lately and I had very nearly been caught practicing with my powers when he'd walked in unexpectedly.

"Hey, Dad?"

Nothing.

I methodically check each and every room in the house one by one, checking his bedroom last in case he was both home and in bed early.

He wasn't. Good.

Once it's confirmed I'm alone, I charge to my room and start packing as fast as I can. I dump several sets of clothes and underwear in my duffle bag before grabbing my notebooks, including my journals and stuffing them in as well. I continue the frantic process grabbing things necessary, or of personal importance until nothing else will fit, before throwing it over my shoulder.

Then I turn to it. The one thing I left untouched on my desk, the item that came with my powers.

To anyone else it would look like a bronze pyramid with tinted red/blue glass. A ornate decoration or paperweight that, while unique, wouldn't catch much attention if not under scrutiny. Only a steady pulsating glow of it's colors even suggested it was more than what it looked. Though, it was my proximity causing that effect. Stand far enough away and the glass dimmed.

However, it wasn't it's outside that was valuable but it's inside. A wealth of information, technology and knowledge that would've helped me become a hero like no other, is now going to be the backbone of my new career as a runaway. It taught me how to use my power in amazing ways. Hell, it told me that my cape ability was known as the Force.

I pick it up and the glow brightens slightly, metal surface warm to the touch and I tuck it in my pocket.

After that I tear out a piece of paper from one of the notebooks and begin doing the most important thing I ever have done in my life.

I write my goodbye letter to Dad.

I don't want to. God knows I don't want to but the thought of just leaving after what I've done without so much as giving him an explaination makes me sick. It's the first thing that's bothered me for a long time.

Once the news catches this story, they will be all over him. I've seen it before on TV. A independent cape does something wrong and the media decends upon the family like a pack of wolves, making life impossible for them. Just thinking of Dad pushed into a corner like that on top of being left high and dry...I can't do that to him.

I make the letter quick and to the point, otherwise I'll write a short novella with all I want to say. The only positive I can even come up with about this situation is that I'm not talking to him face to face. I think I might just simply cried nothing but nonsense if that were the case.

I check my watch as I finish. Ten minutes since I started the letter. That means, Damn.

I grab my bag and make a beeline for the door...when I'm stopped by the blinking red light on the answering machine.

I don't even think I heard the phone ring. I'm tempted to ignore it but something in me tells me to listen to it.

The Force tells me to listen to it.

So I do and as I press play.

When the message starts, I'm dumbfounded. Simply confused by what I'm hearing.

By the time it ends, I'm not just angry. No, angry would've left me to simply harbor that feeling and use it as a reason to put as many miles between me and this city as quickly as possible. Angry would've gotten the speaker off with barely a thought.

Angry is just too small of a feeling to describe the reason my hands are trembling.

My plan to get out of Brockton is put on hold for the next few hours and damn the consequences.

* * *

It was painfully easy to acquire a car for my needs. This old puke green two door hatchback Toyota junker from the 80s sat abandoned and forgotten on the end of my block. It hadn't been moved for awhile, at least since before I got back from the hospital months ago. I was just lucky it hadn't been towed yet. Getting it to start was even easier, a simple manipulation of the Force against the ignition and the engine with some struggle started.

It took less than an hour to reach my destination, a two-story house in a nice suburban cul-de-sac. Big lawns, white picket fences, trees with a swing or two tied to its branches. A slice of good-ol fashioned fresh apple Americana from which I parked two blocks away.

I made my way through the alley, my job of sneaking into the right backyard made simple by the huge privacy fences every home had. From there all I had to do was sneak in through a window (unlocked, go figure) and sit in the living room and wait in the dark.

So I did.

I waited, observing my surroundings as I did. The house was just what I expected, ordered, boring, miserable in it's lack of any personal touch or family photos. Simply put it really reflected the mind and life of it's owner. I might have pitied such a lonely existence if I wasn't so pissed off right now.

Every part of me wanted to strike out, and turn everything in this home to a broken piece of junk.

I resist the urge for the simple reason that if I did that the noise might attract the attention of the neighbors and I didn't need any additional observers to what was going to be a very private matter.

Finally, I hear a garage door open after six hours, sixteen minutes, and forty two seconds right as the last rays of sun are about to set. Though I have had time to cool down, I find my anger building again as the door begins unlocking.

Principal Blackwell stumbles in looking for all the world like she just went through a ten-mile hike, all uphill, on her hands and knees. All of her just sags. Her suit so usually neat is rumpled beyond anything I've ever seen. Her head hangs low and eyes droop. Everything about her screams that she's had a very very long day. No doubt because of me.

She turns on the light and, either becuase of her tiredness or just plain unobservance, she closes the door behind her and nearly walks halfway into the living room before she notices me sitting cross-legged in the center.

There is a moment of confusion on her face, then all signs of exhastion evaporate into fear.

"I got your message. Please," I motion to the couch facing me. "Sit down."

Blackwell doesn't move for a moment, then her hands snap down to her purse. I reach out and snatch it away. The bag jumps out of her hands, flying right into my grasp.

"Sit down." I repeat. "I won't be so polite a third time."

She's not even subtle when her eyes flick from me to the door leading to the garage. I gave her a flat look, telling her just what I think about that idea.

Slowly, shakily, she sits down on the couch while I take a moment to search through her purse.

Her cellphone is right at the top and I pull it out, twirling it between my fingers and give her a shake of my head. Her wallet is right under that and I open it. $125 dollars. I can't help but pocket it. I need gas money after this.

This whole time as I do this she is a slient as a church mouse and still as a grave. It takes about two more minutes before she finally breaks it, just as I'm folding the money into my pocket. "H-how did you get here?" She demands.

Well, not demands.

Her voice cracks and her hands trembling, looking so tense that a stiff breeze might crack her in two. No doubt she was well aware of what I was and what I had done at school today. Her eyes move up and down, taking me in from head to toe. I know what they see: Taylor Hebert. The girl that was put in the hospital by her borderline idiotic refusal to do her job. Who's sitting here cool as ice after putting two of her students in the hospital. She don't see a threat. And that's what she's afraid of.

It's expected, really. With monsters like Nilbog, Nine, and Sleeper around, unknowns should scare other people shitless.

Especially unknowns that look normal.

"Easy." I smile suddenly, savagely, baring my teeth at her and I'm sure if she hadn't been sitting down she would've fallen over. "I drove to the address on those school business cards you have on your desk. Considering what school you work at that's a fairly idiotic thing to have for anyone to just pick up." Which was true. This visit could have been made by a member from any of the gangs that recruited at the school. Or by any student with a personal beef like me. I mean, I'm still livid about having to take her hush money and I'd probably go visit Alan as well if I had the time.

I imagine Lung paying my dear principal a visit and have to fight to keep myself from laughing.

From the way her face pales further, I think she also realized just how stupid it was. I cock my head at her. "As for the reason, well..." I let the pause hang in the air. "It was even stupider to call the house of a cape that just attacked your students. I mean, you deserve a Darwin award for that choice."

"You know what, Blackwell?" I muse aloud, drumming on my knees. "I find myself in a bit of a situation. You see I came here after your rather scathing message to my father with half a mind to kill you."

My words don't have quite the entire reaction I expected. She doesn't look quite as horrified as I imagine someone would if they were being threatened by a cape. "You wouldn't dare." She said, a bit more confidently than I expected. "If you do anything to me the PRT would be all over you."

That caught my interest. "Why?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. "How would they even know I killed you? Odds are my actions today will have school out for awhile, which since you won't be going in for work, will give me more than enough time to end your life and clean up whatever evidence is left behind. The police could easily guess that it was a break-in gone wrong."

She's trembling even more now, probably from seeing the massive flaw in her reasoning. "They want to interview me tomorrow. If I don't..."

"...show up, they'll come to investigate." I finish for her. It made sense...somewhat. If she didn't arrive for the meeting with the PRT, they might assume the worst. Then again my statement before still stands. They couldn't immediately know it was me. Plus that confidence from before was bothering me.

It's probably nothing but if it wasn't...

No, killing her, as satisfying as it would be, wouldn't gain me anything in the long run. But that didn't mean I came for nothing. Her interview tomorrow presents an opportunity.

What I wanted to do couldn't be instant like with force lightning, this was going to have to be something steadily built up which meant time...if I wanted to be gentle about it.

"You know what? You're right. Killing you is not worth the headache." I jerk to my feet and am in Blackwell's face in two steps. She yelps and tries to jerk away from me but I grab her by the shirt and hold her in place. I look her right in the eyes then I dive into her mind. "But that doesn't mean you're getting out of this unharmed."

I hammer into it, overwhelming her thoughts with my own, like a battering ram against a two-by-four. Her mind reels under my pressure as I burrow in, creating little holes for me to plant the seed of suggestion.

Judging by the constant stream of whimpers coming from her, what I'm doing hurts a great deal. I don't even have to do it with such force. I had practiced mind tricks on animals and had gotten quite good at it. Using it on her wasn't even a challenge.

Her mind is of weak will, offering no defense against me but seeing her expression crinkle into a grimace puts a smile on my face. I would find out later that what I had done was akin to using a sledgehammer in diamond cutting. Once her thoughts are practically swiss cheese, I begin filling in those empty spots with what I want. Suggestion or order, it doesn't matter at this depth. she will play out her part like a puppet.

By the time I finish she's actively flailing, kicking against me and yanking at my arms, trying to rip my grip away from her. It has as much effect on me as if I were a statue. For a moment, I feel a pang of regret for the violation I've done. It's gone just as fast in a flash of anger.

Fuck her comfort. She never cared about mine. Besides she won't have it for long anyway. I've doing something far worse than kill her. Tomorrow, she'll be telling the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth. From my constant begging to do her job to the hush money she force my father and I to take, she will confess like a sinner in church. Maybe a little more if my suggestion holds for awhile. She'll dig herself in a hole deep enough for her to be thrown under the bus with me.

Simply put, her career is over. If I was really lucky the PRT and Protectorate might actually give me a fair chance to defend myself in court. Yeah, that was optimistic. Maybe Blackwell would drag the trio down with her.

As I release her, in mind and body, I wipe myself away from her immediate memory and she passes out.

Then I leave quickly. I have time I need to make up.


	2. 2 Hours Later

Emily Piggot, Director of the local PRT, stood silent, watching the middle aged man that had been brought in half an hour before from behind two-way glass. This was a pattern of hers.

She'd always take time to gauge a suspect before entering. Letting someone who was lined up for questioning stew in their own thoughts softened them on in the long run more often than not. It was a double edged blade though, giving the quick witted ones time to create a plausible lie or at least time to come up with deflections to the questioning and waste her time.

However, she realized neither case was going to happen and her tactic wasn't necessary.

Danny Hebert wore himself on his sleeves. He looked like the purest definition of a man about to be questioned. The man barely sat still at the lone chair provided, constantly checking and rechecking his watch as well as the clock on the wall. He fidgeted with a cup of water he was given, turning it around in his hands over and over but having yet to take a sip. His movements were jerky and quick, like a five year old who had been caught eating too much candy. Just full of nervous energy wanting to explode.

Next to her, Miss Militia, who had been silent up until this point confirmed what Piggot already came to realize. "He's worried."

"Any father would be if they were sitting in a PRT interrogation room with no explanation." She said not in the least bit surprised when Hannah turned to her. She imagined shock under that trifold American bandana.

"No one's told him?" Judging by the cape's voice, she guessed right. "Why?"

"Security. We've got a ward and civilian in the hospital, the latter still so terrified out of her mind that when we show her the suspect's picture she's reduced to screaming fits. The unknown parahuman that put them there is nowhere to be found and the only one who has a connection to her is sitting in that room. If he knew anything about what was going happen at that school then i wanted him on ice." She stated, though even as she talked when she looked back at the bundle of nerves checking his watch for the 52nd time, it sounded like a hollow excuse. It was clear this man knew nothing about his daughter's actions today, much less her powers.

That or was the best actor she'd ever seen in her life.

Now she was wishing Colin was here with his ever-present lie detector, just in case. She shook her head at the thought. No need having to take him from collecting witness testimony just to confirm what she was seeing with her own eyes. Though if there was indeed any deceit she was sure Hannah would pick up on it.

Sometimes there wasn't a surprise waiting in the wings.

"Let's go." She said, turning to the door and heading to the interrogation room.

"FInally!" Danny Hebert was much more tense than she thought as he all but launched himself out of his seat when they entered. "Could you please tell me what's going on? No one's told me anything."

"And I apologize for that Mr. Hebert." Piggot nodded, and motioned for him to take his seat. "Things have been rather busy."

There is a moment of hesitation but he does sit back down, sweating, clearly walking a knife's edge between worry and anger.

Before she could continue however, Miss Militia was faster. "Sir, do you know where your daughter is?"

Piggot kept a frown off her face and resolved to speak to Hannah later.

"By this time..." He looked at his watch yet again, his nervousness taking a frustrated edge. "Home probably. Look what does that have to do with anyth-?"

His words faded, a look crossed his face that could only be described as horrific realization, and he was back on his feet. "Wait...is she...? What's happened to her? Where is my daughter?"

Just like that what little doubt that in the back of her mind washed away. Over the years, even before being promoted to Director she had dealt with parents and associates that covered for rogue capes they personally knew. She had seen them, with varying levels of success, attempt to fake concern or worry for someone they knew was perfectly fine. This was not one of those moments.

This was the genuine fear of a parent having lost their child to a parahuman, a look she was forced to see in her line of work far too often. Mr. Hebert may have jumped the gun but the truth she was about to tell certainly wasn't going to be any easier to swallow.

"Sir, we asked you here to answer that exact question. Your daughter is wanted for questioning for her involvement in an attack that happened at 2:15 p.m. today at Winslow High School which left two students injured. Our officers were unable to find her at your address which leads to my next question." Piggot could easily identify each emotion that cycled through Mr. Hebert's face as she pulled out the warrent for arrest and warrent to search and handed both the time she finished, it had settled on 'shell-shocked'. She let the hold in the air for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"Do you know where Taylor is right now or have any idea where she would go? If she has and friends or family to hide with?"

If she had any connections in Brockton Bay, her father telling them may almost halve any future leg work. This was a teenager after all.

The man was silent for awhile, clearly trying to gather his mind around what he'd just been told and what he was currently reading. When he did finally speak, looking up from the papers, his voice was shuddery and quiet and his face was pale. "I...um-I...No. I don't. Not anyone in...town"

"Mr. Hebert." she said, not breaking eye contact. "Did you know that your daughter was a parahuman?"

Piggot's initial assumption that the man couldn't look more shaken was quickly removed as his jaw dropped. "What?" He gasped.

SHe removed another piece of paper from the file she placed on the table, a letter.

The letter the investigators found in Taylor Hebert's room which was a mess of open drawers, thrown about hangers, and empty shelves. This was the original, copies had been made of course.

She herself had read it several times before they brought Mr. Hebert in.

Clearly a hasty goodbye and explanation letter from it's content. It had gone through thorough testing before a copy made it's way on her desk and what had gotten her attention was the circumstances of the girl's triggering. The details had been vague and considering both the suspect's hurry and exactly what a trigger event was, she wasn't surprised. Yet it was made clear that she struck out specifically against those who had caused her to trigger in the first place.

Which, if it were true, meant once Shadow Stalker recovered she would have a great deal of explaining to do. She'd wanted to give that girl a real dressing down since she first got the call but if what Colin said was true, Hess wouldn't be in any state to answer questions for awhile.

Danny for his part looked steadily more and more ill as he read the letter, by the time he set it down his hands were trembling with a voice to match. "How...how did I not notice?"

"You were unaware?" Hannah responded."You didn't notice any changes in her behaviour or schedule? Not even the possibility of nighttime activities?"

He shook his head numbly. "How did I not notice?"

"Please understand Mr. Hebert, we're looking for your daughter for her safety as well as others. Her identity was open and exposed to whoever even had a passing knowledge of her at Winslow." Piggot began. "There is no easy way to say this but she will be easy pickings for Parahuman gangs, especially if she's still in town. So if there is anything you can tell us…"

Her open offer was met with silence. "If you're worried about any legal repercussions coming back to you-"

She was cut off as Danny Hebert's face went from pale shock to twisted in rage so fast that, even though she kept it on the table, her right hand twitched in reaction for a sidearm that she no longer carried. Hannah stiffened on her left.

"You think I care about 'legal repercussions' when my daughter..." He seemed to be at a loss for words, eyes watering, face flushed almost purple. "I know how capes get their powers, learned about it years ago! You're telling me that my daughter went through...something _like that and I didn't._ _ **EVEN. NOTICE?!**_ "

It went quiet again and for a few tense moments, Emily Piggot prepared herself to be bull rushed by a angry confused father. Then he sat back down again, drained, tears running down his cheeks and if she hadn't been paying close attention, she would've missed the whispered "What kind of father am I?"

"I'm sorry, Mr Hebert." she finally said, as she stood up. "Some agents will be with you shortly to escort you home."

Leaving the room, she nodded to the PRT officers stationed just outside the door as she and Hannah made their way to her office just as a chame came from the phone on Hannah's hip followed by the ringtone shortly after. Emily was silent as they walked not even listening to the one half of conversation she registered was going on next to her. Her mind was what were they going to do next and which option would get the least amount of egg on the PRT and Protectorate.

It was a bad enough embarrassment for a Parahuman attack to happen on a school, even for one like Winslow. She chewed at her bottom lip in dread. The moment the story went national the media would whip themselves up into a frenzy talking about local hero's inability to protect children from danger, being sure to leave out the fact it was a threat they didn't know existed until the very last moment. It wasn't like they already didn't get enough flack for the gang problems in this city.

This would be another failure tacked on an already muddied record for this branch. She needed this straightened out and fast. Luckily,tomorrow would hopefully provide some answers. She'd been informed by Velocity, first on the scene, that he had spoken with the principal who made it clear that she'd had several dealings with Taylor Hebert in the past and got her to agree to an interview tomorrow morning.

For now, however the warrant was issued and they were going to have to make a statement and put out an APB and...

"Director?"

Piggot was jerked out of her thoughts and gave the cape next to her a sharp glance, who was just pulling the phone away from her face and tapping away at something on the screen.

"Yes, what is it?"

"That was the investigators." The cape began, indicating the the call. " They just finished searching the Hebert household."

"And?" Piggot urged, already getting the feeling she wasn't going to like what was about to be said.

"They found an article of clothing, probably a cape costume half-finished in the basement with what they suspect is a mask. As well as..." Her tone could only be described as hesitant and regretful as she seemed to contemplating to continue or not.

"What?" Already Piggot knew she wasn't about to like what was about to be said, she just wanted it out of the way. Like a prophecy from God, she was proven right.

"The phone number for the PRT. Our phone number"

She couldn't help the curses that flew from her mouth. One of their wards had been this close to another parahuman, one who might have been willing to join the wards and...Damn it all! Questions exploded in her head, hundreds of thousands of them bounced around demanding answers she didn't have.

This wasn't just a mess, it was turning into a bigger pile up with every stone they turned over.

They needed to salvage this quickly. "The media already have her name and face. Get one of our PR reps to prepare a statement for the evening news."

For now they needed to find Taylor Hebert as quickly as possible. She took off to her office at an even faster pace, leaving Hanna behind, throwing one last thing over her shoulder.

"And for God's sake, make sure there are plain clothes agents guarding the house."

Sophia Hess found herself, not for the first time, cursing that weakening Taylor Hebert. Before it had been out of frustration of not getting her to know her place in the world. She'd been a constant irritant every time she was seen. Somehow still standing in clear defiance of the natural order. A victim that lingered where she wasn't supposed to be.

Now it was out of pure unbridled rage at how prey could've lay a survivor like her so low.

From the moment, she'd woken up her entire existence had been pain. Even the drugs she was currently pumped up with only just took the edge off from agony to just molton needles stabbing along her nerves.

She could barely move and if she did, there was a great deal of shaking involved. Every breath she took was a rasping one. A half-gasp that buzzed and rattled in her chest and burned as if she was breathing liquid fire.

With every flare, all she could think of was how much she regretted stepping in front of Emma in the moment that led to this. That dumb bitch should be here instead of her. Both her and Madison had been told to lay off Hebert for awhile until she could get a guage on the situation, but they not only seemed to not get the message but missed the signs she caught.

Hebert had been acting...strange up until that point, at least the times she'd seen her. Too quiet. Too still. Moving slowly, steadily. Almost as if she was being careful or gentle with something. Hess had had a number of theories as to why this was. None of them had even included the possibility of a trigger.

Sure, it was a fact that 'technically' everyone had the potential to get power until proven otherwise but she'd never considered Hebert getting any of all things, much less having the stones to use them.

So when the girl's eyes turned an unnatural honey yellow, to say she'd been surprised didn't even begin to cover it. Getting in the way had been a reaction, Hebert's hand had raised quickly and she'd expected the attention to be directed at her instead of Emma.

A punch she could take and if it looked like something she couldn't handle she could turn herself to shadow and let it pass through.

She did not expect pure lightning. Anything that happened after that had been a flash of whitish-blue and noise and pain. Pain that made, even what she was going through now ticklish in comparison.

Now here she was, laying in a hospital bed, unable to move through what was the worst moment of her life.

The pain seemed to play with her suffering as a predator might have fun with it's prey. It came unexpectedly every time, giving her moments when it was almost impossible to breathe let alone think. That's when her heart rate would jump and a nurse would come in, fill her I.V. with something from a needle. Then it would slowly reced, like a wave from the shore, bringing her back to the edge of numbness before snatching it away again.

Sophia didn't wallow though. When it did come back to strike it became a focusing lens on just who put her here in the first place.

Taylor Hebert.

TAYLOR. HEBERT.

TAYLOR. FUCKING. HEBERT. DID. THIS.

TO HER!

She was going to kill that bitch for this. Didn't matter if she had to go to the Birdcage as a result, she was going to put an arrow between the bitch's eyes if it was the last thing she did. If she could get her alone right now...No, Fuck she'd give anything right now to just stand... She'd give anything right now to have the energy to scream.

FUCK!


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I'm actually pretty shocked by the reception this story had gotten in just two updates. I never thought anyone would want to read this. This idea of mine was bouncing around for a while and I'm finally glad I got around to writing it. Though it was a toss up between this or a Worm/Umineko crossover and ever since I saw The Force Awakens the former has been winning out.**

 **I also kinda rushed this chapter. Been very sick for the last few months.**

 **Anyway, I've been getting PMs from some people and quite a lot of reviews and I decided to answer some questions.**

 **First off to the most asked one: No, Star Wars does not exist in this reality. This is an alternate reality of an alternate reality and I don't believe George Lucas at even his best would be able to come up with ideas good enough for Hollywood once Capes hit the scene.**

 **Two: I haven't forgotten about Blackwell. It's just been two chapters. I know everyone is eager but please don't flood my inbox about that.**

 **Now...On with the show.**

Darkness had fallen and the moon was just beginning to rise in the east in the cloudy sky as I reach the outskirts of Brockton Bay proper. It's been a quiet tense drive for the last 45 minutes. I had been driving like a saint through the streets, using every bit of knowledge that I got from studying for my driver's permit. One mistake and I could have a camera take a photo of me and my car. Not a turn signal was forgotten, the speed limit was followed exactly, and I checked my mirrors twice before changing lanes. During every second of my precise escape, I was expecting at any moment to hear sirens. To see the red and blue lights of Brockton's finest fill the car.

But it never happened and by the time I reached Interstate 25 I had relaxed more than I ever thought I would be on this exodus of mine.

Relaxed enough that I turned on the aftermarket Radio/CD player.

It was then I learned two things. One, this car certainly didn't belong to a member of the E88, current or former. I don't think Otis Redding's Satisfaction would've be part of any skinhead's dancing material.

Two, I couldn't carry a tune if it had handlebars and velcro. I at least could trick myself into believing I sounded decent in the shower. In the car, not so much.

Yet, my tone deafness didn't stop me from trying. This was a 'work it out any way you can' time, after all.

That's how I spent the next one hundred and thirty eight miles. Playing some of the best the 60s had to offer on repeat and I'm screwing up on every note.

By the time I reached a suitable combination gas station and rest stop, my voice was raw and the first rays of sun were rising in the east.

I parked, out of the way of the big rigs that were still pulling into the complex and felt the weariness I held back for the last fifty or so of my journey crash into me like a wave. I'm asleep before I even realize it.

 _Sand. A lot of sand. Even without looking up I know I won't have any idea where I am. I shouldn't be here...wherever here is. I should be home._

 _How did I get here?_

 _A blast of frigid, stale air hit me in the face when I opened the huge steel door. It was enough to shock a gasp from me and allowed me to see my breath. Yet, I couldn't feel the obvious chill. I didn't recognize where I was much less the area I was entering, but every sense was telling me that the coolness was a relief. I couldn't see the inside well. It was dark and the only current source of light came from the daylight shining through the very door I opened. Right before me is a staircase, just as big as the entrance, meant for many many people to descend side by side, that goes down and disappears into the dark further than the light can reach._

 _I say something to a person next to me, I don't know who, looking down into the darkness below. I turn to the person and while I don't recognize them, I know them. It's an odd feeling of familiarity and anonymity all at once._

 _I smile. It's perfect. For what purposes, I don't know. But as I take the first step-_

 **HONK!**

I will be the first to admit that, as effective a Big Rig alarm can be, if you're not prepared...it will...shock you at the very least.

I'm not too proud to admit I screamed and did some half-awake flailing movements as my cotton stuffed brain attempted to make sense of unfamiliar surroundings.

Oh...That's right.

I'm on the run.

I look at the time on the radio. To my surprise only two hours have passed yet I'm nowhere near the amount of tired I felt before.

Or maybe the shock of adrenaline to my system was still working it's magic.

Either way, I needed to get moving. The authorities had to know I was out of town by now. Sparing only enough time to glare at the truck that was still trying to work it's way out of the parking lot, I turn the engine on.

Unfortunately, I barely got the car in gear before natural bodily needs began to set in. That on top of the fact, it had now been 24 hours since I last took a shower. I knew from one of my father's friends, who had once been a trucker before settling in Brockton, that there were...public showers that could be used. To say I was not enthusiastic to use one, would be an understatement.

At least, at home I knew how many times the bathroom was cleaned per week and it was just my father and I in the house. I have no idea if the public showers that were here at this rest stop, which were advertized on the signage, had even been cleaned once per week with who knows how many people used them.

I can't help the sigh that leaves my mouth as I park the car and gather up my duffle bag out of the trunk. Pulling on a hoodie to hide my face from the cameras, I ask one of the cashiers where the showers are. I'm pointed towards a room just off the hallway leading to the bathrooms. To my surprise they're cleaner than I expected, though my expectations were set so low I'm not sure even Behemoth would've been able to reach them. Nice to know that life is trying to meet me halfway sometimes.

After buying some soap and a bottle of travel-sized shampoo, I got clean under the coldest water I've ever felt in my life. There had to be a downside somewhere, I guess. Then again, it did make sure I didn't slow down in my scrubbing.

Ten minutes later I was feeling much more clean and after dressing in some new clothes I stopped my the breakfast foods counter on the way out. A woman was already there looking very distracted by the large choice of low quality food. As I picked out a sausage and egg biscuit, I noticed the cellphone sticking out her back pocket.

With a small application of a mind trick, I palm the phone out of her pocket and into mine. It's not as smooth as I'd like. She notices me...or at least in her mind, something out of the ordinary but her eyes slide past me like marbles on glass as she looks around turning her attention back to...

Not the food, she hadn't been looking at the food but a TV on the wall. A TV that was tuned to a Fox News anchor standing outside...Winslow. It's clear even as far away as the news anchor is standing that there is yellow tape criss-crossing the entrance

 _"...have reason to believe the parahuman in question was a student here at the public high school as several witnesses to the suspect's escape were indeed on site to see the aftermath. The two students, who shall remain anonymous, were hospitalized and we have yet to hear any word on their condition. As mentioned in the statement given by the PRT Director Piggot, the parahuman who's been codenamed as 'Bolt' has been recognized as a villain and an all points bulletin has been put out for this girl, Taylor Hebert."_

I barely have time to register that when a picture of me, clearly from the school I.D. popped up on screen. It's only then that I realize I didn't put my hoodie back on.

Oh fuck me.

Fear. Icy and sharp forces me to become aware of just how many people are in here. How many people could be watching this right now in the dining area? My heart pounds in my chest so hard I'm afraid my ribs will crack.

As if summoned by Murphy himself, I became aware that a third person has joined our little T.V group. Another employee, a young blonde man who'd been restocking snacks in our particular section had come to a stop to watch the news, probably little more than to burn a few minutes out of his shift. He glanced at me as I begin to pass him before looking back to the screen. Less than a second passed before his eyes widened and snapped back to me. I regester his face going pale, various types of snack foods tumbling out of his hands.

Let it not be said I'm quick to anger, dealing with the trio for so long was my well earned medal of patience but I'd never wanted to strangle a man more than the anchor on the T.V right now.

"Ma'am?" I don't pause as I head out the door. The cashier's voice comes up again. "Ma'am, you have to pay for that."

I can hear her voice raise a little more as the doors shut behind me, I take a single glance back. The young man at the T.V. is pointing at me and saying something to the cashier. From the shock that develops on her face, I don't really have to guess the words.

I get into my car as quick as I can and practically screech the wheels out of the parking lot, mentally cursing in ways that would peel the rust off metal. Of all the times, of all the places to get recognized, I wasn't even across state lines or past the 24 hour mark. FUCK!

I continued driving, pushing to the limits of my skill. I was speeding but at this point, it didn't really matter. If I was pulled over I'd just knock out the officer once he or she got to the window.

It was about 30 minutes before I found a rural road that led off the highway. After driving it for some time I stopped. My rage wasn't gone. It remained, boiling under my skin for the entire time, only put to the side by one simple fact.

I need help. I've screwed up and I can't do this on my own. It's bad enough the authorities now know where to search but also the direction I went. I reach into my duffel bag and grab my holocron, knowing that I'm going to get quite a talking to from my master.

I'm closing my eyes before I even realize it, mind slipping away to focus on the warmth in my hand...

And I open them in a familiar place.

The dreamscape, I call it. A featureless black void, that feels as solid as the real world. I've only come to this place to learn, to meditate with my teacher.

"Taylor."

No sooner had he said my name than I spun around to look at him. Before me he stood, drawn up to his full height he was taller than me. Armored robes only added to his considerable size with a hood that would've cover his face if it wasn't for his mask. That was the most intimidating thing about him, that expressionless visor that made it impossible to tell what the man was thinking. A lot of people never realize just how much we as human beings rely on the social cues given by the face. How a slight twitch of the lips can tell you that someone thought that joke was hilarious or how a four second stare can say 'You don't expect me to believe you, right?'. With him, it was a crapshoot...blindfolded, in the middle of the night, aiming for the tip of a pen.

Yet what he was feeling was clear. His gaze was hard, judging, piercing even, from under the mask. The air held a great sense of disappointment. All directed at me. "You failed."

His voice wasn't harsh or angry, just tired.

For the second time since I left Brockton Bay, I felt ashamed. Not for my actions, but for the troubles they caused to the one I respected. "I have nothing to say, anything that I did would sound like an excuse. I beg your forgiveness, Master Revan"

"Bah." He scoffs with a wave of his hand. "There is nothing to forgive. You didn't fail ME. You failed yourself."

For a moment, I was confused but he continued. "You've exposed yourself to your peers, to those who could easily identify you." He crossed his arms behind his back, turning his burning gaze on something in the distant void. "When you explained the state of this world to me, I was under the assumption that you would've acted with your own best interest in mind, not blindly lash out with no care of who saw you."

But what was I supposed to do, keep taking it? To bend my neck for an ax? "I couldn't take it anymore."

He scoffed again. I could almost see his eyes roll under his mask.. "And so what? They had slighted you...and? It was nothing different than the previous ones. Words and attacks used to hurt, wound, break apart, and you withstood all of it. Until now that is."

"And what was I supposed to do? Keep taking it?" I snap. "I made a decision to strike back yet you are going to look down on me as if you're any example of self-control."

His head snaps back to face me and I shut my mouth so hard I hear my teeth click. I've fucked up again. He explained to me, in broad strokes, what his history was. Things he shared with me that were made clear not to be repeated. I half-expect him to backhand me at the very least but instead he sighs a long suffering sigh and looks away from me again.

"The point of the matter is you betrayed yourself. You made clear your intentions to be a hero. You could've acted like one. You had options, yet you picked the worst one possible. You told me you planned to change the world. But now? That choice of yours will cost you. It's a mark that will follow you and no matter what you do, even if you were to solve every problem on this planet it will always be colored in that choice!" He hissed, seemingly not at me but at the air. "I know from experience. There was once a person who put the Jedi on such a cliffs edge that they were nearly wiped out yet, when they recovered and her deeds were brought to light, what did they do? Not even treat her to even a quarter of the hostility they directed at me."

And there he went, making references to people and things he never made clear then again, I'd never asked. He mentioned, these 'Jedi' a lot. He did tell me he was once one, so maybe his arguments with them were like a disgruntled employee? Yet, I understood what he was saying clearly. After what happened at the gas station, they'd probably say I'd terrorized the employees. That was if they didn't make up their own stories, the media rarely even checked their facts if at all. My musings were put on hold as he continued.

"Now, I will have to increase the rate of your lessons. You will be building the necessary equipment in the future to supplement what you learn. For now, I will need to prepare you for combat." He paused for a moment, as if thinking if he should continue or not. "As for the boy in your vision...best if you use a map to find him."

He spins on his heel and walks away into the dark, leaving me with many questions. The leading one being, 'How did he know?'

"I will leave this in your hands."

The way he speaks, it's like he's not addressing me but the air again. I'm confused further when Revan's form fades and is replaced with a man I could easily imagine my dad looking like in his later years. There were only two things that broke that image. The way he carried himself made me immediately think sophisticated, even royal. Grey hair, well-trimmed beard, cape fastened around his shoulders. A man who knew he'd be the most important person in the room before he even entered. The second thing was his gaze. It was a hard studying one which was followed by a sneer, like a professor looking over his students and disappointed by what he sees.

"It's clear to me I've not been given much to work with." He began. "You're hardly at the physical capability needed to even attain the rank of padawan. You're not strong. You're not fast. Your control in the force could be generously described as wasteful with too much energy expended in it's use."

Within less than thirty seconds of meeting this man, I decided I didn't like him. His scathing review of me continued. "That all combined with the fact, that you need to be mentally and physically prepared to go up against those with power that would cast a shadow over both my masters?" He gave me one last head to toe glance before he snorted. "This is going to be tough."

"For you, I mean." With very little warning, he reached to his side and pulled a lightsaber from under his cloak. A red blade ignited, casting a red glow over the void around us. "You may refer to me as Master Dooku. Now," He tipped his blade to me and took a stance. "Prepare yourself."

 **AN: Now I know some people might have some trouble with my picks on who is teaching Taylor and I have my reasons for that. One of them is I want the holocron to be a collection of the best Jedi and Sith knowledge from the Star Wars universe. The main reason being I couldn't decide. So I picked the Laundry list of Jedi and Sith and And decided for them to be Taylor's mentors.**

 **Plus, Count Dooku TRAINED Grievous and no matter which way you slice it that is a huge feather in his cap. If you consider the newest Clone Wars(in which I think Grevious is heavily neutered) almost every Jedi that fights the General resorts to their force abilities when fighting him and those that don't, like in his battle with Master Eeth Koth, will lose. Though I will note Grievous had backup.**

 **Now if you consider the old Clone Wars series from 2003, what I grew up with, Grievous is an even bigger powerhouse and much more dangerous threat to Jedi, having fought several Jedi at once and won. A few of which were council members.**

 **(Watch the 2003 final Grievous fight to get a real idea of just how deadly he is.)**

 **And Dooku TRAINED that. So even if Taylor wasn't force sensitive, she could still be trained to a level that would put her on or even above a level of Armsmaster. And that ain't nothin to sneeze at.**

 **Those of you who don't know what I'm talking about look it up on youtube. There should be some clips of the old Clone Wars there.**

 **That aside, Dooku is a perfect ground level teacher in my opinion.**


	4. The Truth of the Matter

Truth.

That's what she came here to do. To spread it. To tell it. To scream it from the top of the MedHall building if she had to. Yes, there was something wrong with her but something told-forced- her to believe that everything would work itself out.

It didn't matter that everytime she tried to say 'My name is not Blackwell' she would gag or even if she tried to split hairs. It didn't matter that her forehead and nose were throbbing as though she had managed to vomit part of her brain out through them. It didn't matter that with her words she would be ending, not only her career but the lives of several other men and women she worked with. Nor did it matter that she wouldn't be walking out of the PRT without a pair of handcuffs because what she'd done to keep Sophia out of trouble walked, if not, crossed the line of what was legal.

With Taylor's school record tucked under her arm, she waited in the interviewing office eyes locked on the cup of water left before her. Then she made the mistake of looking at the trashcan in the corner and thought about putting the file in.

TELL! THE! TRUTH!

The words echoed, rang, and sung in her veins. She gasped for breath and struggled to keep her balance, her eyelids blinking away at stars and black spots as she tried to refocus her vision. There was still no genuine pain, just the same sickening pressure throughout her brain as if her skull was in a hug that was just on the wrong side of too tight.

She couldn't remember how long after that she'd waited but eventually, a man entered. His armor, right down to his goatee, was recognizable. Armsmaster-judge-shut the door behind him and sat down at the table. He didn't smile. Neither did Blackwell. This wasn't a smiling time after all.

"How familiar are you with your students, Miss Blackwell?"

And this was how it started, She knew what she wanted to say but what she wanted and what she NEEDED were two very different things.

'Very' was what she wanted to say but everything that followed tumbled out like a upturned wastebasket.

"Very, but only to those who have a certain value to the future of the school."

An eyebrow was raised. Lips pressed together tighter. "And what does 'value' mean?"

Well, every student is valuable to the future of this city.

"Those with wealthy parents or with an actual vested interest in learning." She began, unable and at this point, unwilling to stop herself. "Winslow is the trash pile of the city, after all. Where those too poor or too misbehaved for Arcadia or any other school here are left to rot as it were. I'm sure most of the graduating class this year will be in a gang or dead by that time. As such I can't be bothered to deal with such..." A pause to find the right word, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Lost causes."

A slight frown. Why? She is being honest. Quite confusing. "And was Taylor Hebert considered a lost cause? Any misbehavior or acting out?"

Yes, actually. Quite the problem child that one. I suspect there might have been a rough home life or maybe even abuse that she refused to address. In my experience with the man, Mr. Hebert had quite a temper.

"No, certainly not. In fact, her grades alone could be considered the best of her year." Blackwell pause a moment. "For a time before the bullying had really shaken her up." She felt it. Truth pouring from her in pulse after pulse with only the simplest of prodding. Truth. Truth. She needed to tell the truth. And the pressure left with every word she said. "No, she was a necessary sacrifice."

No reaction that time. Was that good? Bad? She couldn't see his eyes behind that visor and he wasn't moving. Even his voice was monotone.

"In what way?"

"Well, if you look at this," She handed over Taylor's school record and watched as he opened it. "Taylor made a substantial amount of bullying acusations which I can varify are true as several teacher personally witnessed them. Most all of them Sophia Hess, your Ward, were behind them. Including the 'Locker' incedent which you will see on page 34."

Silence as Armsmaster's silent looming bulk flipped page after page after page. He didn't get half way before he shut the file. His voice is tense now.

"Why weren't we told any of this?"

There is no hesitation in her answer. It's the easiest question.

"They were suppressed. In several conversations between me and her PRT handler, we decided to allow her to keep up her current activities as long as she didn't go too far. The school needed the money, after all. Or rather _I_ needed the money"

Another frown, frustrated and clearly upset.

"Let's take this from the top, I want to know everything."

And thus, Blackwell, soon to be former Principal of Winslow High School, told Armsmaster just that.

And she felt good to do so.

* * *

A hiss of frustration left her lips.

Emily hadn't slept that night so she was unprepared for the monumentally large amount of bad news that rolled across her desk this morning. FIrst, Dragon had alerted them that Taylor Hebert was no longer in the city, having been caught on the traffic cameras to I-75 leading west out of the city. Unfortunately, she could only be tracked so far out of the city before hitting rural sections of the interstate which had no surveillance whatsoever but Dragon promised constant scans of every camera in the nearest area where she was lost.

Second, Hebert had been outed. It was a certainty that she would, but I had been faster than she'd expected. A video of the school incident had been taped by someone and her face, placid and calm like she was watching a cloud drift by, was quite exposed as she blasted Sophia with lightning and crushed the other girls arm like cheap cardboard. That video, along with testimony and witness accounts pouring through the internet forums had shaken things up in the city slightly. Every informant that had been inserted into the gangs that kept the Bay in a constant stranglehold, reported that Empire and Merchant grunts alike had been alerted to keep on the lookout for her. No doubt they planned to 'persuade' her into joining if they'd caught her. And she certainly didn't like the name they stuck her with, 'Bolt' just sounded ridiculous. Then again, the girl was running away so maybe the name was a little one the nose/

Lung simply put a hit out on her, with a reward for whoever managed to put a bullet in her skull for the simple reason to keep her from ending in E88 clutches. And Danny Hebert was caught in the center of it. Plain clothes agents had been able to recognize certain faces, informants for the gangs in the media circus that was now camped out in front of his house. No capes, thank god. But it would only be a matter of time. Hopefully they could spread the word that Taylor was gone, maybe they might just back off.

But now, the cherry on top of this was the interview of Winslow's Principal. It was meant to get a gauge of Hebert's attitude in school. How she worked with authority and the like. However instead of a rebellious disrespectful attitude towards her teachers, instead Emily got a story of a young girl who worked within the rules of the system, who all but got on her knees begging for help, and was either ignored or outrightly turned away by everyone who could do something about it. Reading about the locker incident and the way it was handled, put a bad taste in her mouth. All but blackmailing the Hebert family not to press charges in exchange for paying the hospital bill. How in earth was Blackwell even going to explain that in a budget meeting?

Even so, no matter how she felt about it, Taylor Hebert was clearly in the wrong. A teenage girl pushed to her limit but still in the wrong.

The woman closed another file, turning her chair around to look out the window, letting out a mental sigh. She was in one of the various meeting rooms in the building, Assault and Velocity were out on patrol, leaving Battery, Miss Militia, and Armsmaster in the room to sit with her, each of them looking over their own copies of the report the tinker had printed out for them to read.

On the projector in the room was the interview that he'd recorded, paused in the middle of the very VERY long confession of wrongdoing on Blackwell's part which ranged from criminal negligence, on the part of her care for the students, to felony charges of embezzlement of the extra funding that was sent to the school in exchange for Sophia's attendance.

Speaking of...

"Shit." Hissed Battery, echoing Piggot's own thoughts. "This is a PR nightmare."

No one refuted the statement. A ward causing another student to have a trigger event. Even if most of the world wasn't quite sure how parahumans got their powers, there was enough guess work and actual evidence to draw close conclusions. Even worse was that they were actively funding those who, if not directly, actively supported Miss Hebert's tormentors.

If some media mouthpiece had a real active imagination, they would twist the story into the PRT and Protectorate were trying to turn bad schools into cape factories. Emily shook her head, trying to remove the thought from her mind.

"Even so, this changes nothing." She stated, looking back at the heroes assembled before her. "Shocker is still a fugitive, who needs to be brought in as quickly as possible."

"But when this story comes out..." Militia began before fading leaving the implication hanging.

"That is exactly a concern." Armsmaster picked up, glancing the the frozen face of Blackwell on the wall. "Currently the principal is in one of our holding cells but we will have to turn this over to the local police and, by proxy, the court of public opinion even if we take Sophia Hess out of the equation we still have a principal who's admitted to skirting and outright breaking the law, embezzling both our money and the school districts, and having multiple teachers on her 'payroll'. Someone is going to question why she's being arrested and some will suspect a connection between her and the attack." His mouth flattened into a thin line of displeasure, the closest Piggot had ever seen him get to expressing frustration. "Between creating a story of sympathy around a fugitive and certainly destroying the very slim chance she might surrender to us peacefully, this story can't get out before we are ready."

Battery and Militia looked at him, clearly not liking the direction this line of logic was going.

Emily raised an eyebrow. "You want to suppress the story?"

Armsmaster nodded in the affirmative. Yet before either of the other two capes present could voice any kind of objections he raised a hand. "Temporarily."

"How?"

"Throughout the entire interview, I was wondering why Blackwell was telling me the truth."

An air of confusion filled the room. "Guilt, maybe. She probably knew that there was going to be an investigation of the school and wanted to avoid a public..."

Battery was cut off as the tinker shook his head. "No, when I mean she told the truth she told the _truth_ the entire time. My detector didn't even pick up so much as a misdirection nor did she attempt to downplay her actions or pass the blame. Really listen to the questions I ask and what she says."

The recording was played over, this being the fifth time, Emily knew the beats of how this was going to go. But then as she really listened, she began to notice a pattern.

It was Militia who spoke first though, voice incredulous. "She doesn't just answer the questions."

Again, Armsmaster nodded. "With no prompting, she gave me details I didn't ask for, personal opinions that weren't needed. Afterwards she even gave me an exact dates and amounts of money stolen, again with little effort on my part to ask her to elaborate." He then pointed at the rather calm and collected face of Blackwell. "Except for a very gifted mind or a parahuman with a talent for memroization there was no way she'd be able to give me exact dollar and cents amounts. I've done the math and it's exactly right. EXACTLY."

He paused for effect.

"Plus her attitude gave to whole thing an air of casual conversation."

Oh, great. Emily almost swore out loud as it finally clicked. How had she not seen it sooner? "She's not even sweating."

"Not once did her pulse raise on the few times that I pressed her for more information. She wasn't nervous during periods of silence. She sits completely still. Simply put, there is a possibility that she's not in her right mind."

"Master/Stranger protocols?" Battery asked.

"Yes." Armsmaster answered. "I suggest isolation for the maximum period."

The director for the first time since the whole situation began, smirked. "A week to monitor the principal is an extra week we have to find Bolt before we lose control of the situation." The worst case was that Blackwell wasn't showing signs of being mastered. If she did...

Well, then they would cross that bridge when they got there. For now, they had seven more days on the reins than they had before. Emily turned to Hannah. "I want you at the hospital as a guard."

The cape striaghtend slightly. "For Sophia's safety or..." She faded the implication clear to the entire room.

"Both. If what Blackwell said was true then I want that girl's ass nailed to the wall until we get this mess figured out. God help us if the E88 get wind of this." She turned her chair to look back out the window, trying to ignore the pain rolling up and down her back. "And tell her probation agent I want her in my office yesterday. As for the rest of you, continue your assigned duties"

She listened to the door open and footsteps leave. Once it was quiet, she heaved a heavy sigh and felt her shoulders slump. The weight of what was going on loomed over her. Events were moving just too damn fast. One of her wards had caused another student to trigger and it had happened right under her damn nose. One of many cracks that had started showing in this branch of the PRT and she knew this was going to come back and bite her in the rear if it was solved or not.

For now they had seven more days. A week that was both too long and too short.

Seven days to get an angry girl who had no idea how much of a PR bomb she w...

Her thought was shut down as the voice of Dragon came from the intercom.

"I've found her last known location."

* * *

Sophia felt her stomach drop and her veins turn to ice. It was the first time she'd felt anything other then dull numbness or firey pain and it wasn't welcome. She glared into the eyes of the susposed brown haired wonder child that was Panancea, who was looking away like some embarrased school girl and not owning up to what she just said. Then she looked at Militia who, by the shifting of her brow, was frowning pretty hard under her mask.

The silence hung in the air as the healer seemed to almost buckle under her constant stare. If what she had been told wasn't so...so...angering, it might have been the pathetic sort of funny. Every passing second she avoided her eyes, she seemed to curl in just a little bit more until finally, Sophia spoke, one word taking so much energy from her that it was only by pure will power that she didn't fall unconcious.

"What?"

"I can't heal you." The girl clearly understood the monumentus words that left her mouth, if her shellshocked half-whisper was any indication. Her hands tembled over Sophia's exposed arm, almost like she was afriad to touch her again. As if she was some fragile piece of glass.

"Why?" Was the only word that could leave Sophia's mouth. What she wanted to say was 'Why in the fuck can't you heal me? You're the fucking New Wave golden girl. People will swear up and down that you shit gold and piss vintage wine, so stop fucking around and heal me, you glorified fuckhead.'

But that was not what she could say. She wanted the shout, to be loud enough to make sure Panancea knew just how much she was NOT fucking around. Instead, her voice wavered in her throat.

Dry.

Raspy.

Weak.

"I've never seen anything like this before. Your cells are dying faster than they multiply. Even my powers have no effect on...whatever was done to you. Even if I heal you...it won't fix what is wrong.

"What do you mean?" It was Milita who spoke. She'd shown up shortly after the healer. The younger cape turned to the veteran, looking very unsure if she should continue or not.

"She..." Panacea looked back to Sophia, tears threatening to leave her eyes. "You're dying. The nerve damage alone would have turned a regular person into a vegtable. But it's deeper than that. If I were to heal you all it would do is give this...whatever it is more to work off of. I don't know what it is but it's actively working against me, against your body."

"I'm sorry, Sophia." The girl said as she left the room, clearly on the verge of breaking down. "I'm so sorry."

At those two words, Sophia saw red. Sorry? Sorry didn't fix this. She didn't need sorry. She didn't WANT sorry. What she wanted was Hebert's neck in her hands so she could squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until the life left her eyes. She wanted revenge for every second she had to suffer this embarassment. Just next to her was a small table of get well soon cards, that she wanted to burn. Evey second she had to rely on a nurse to clean herself. Every second she had to be fed in order to even eat. Every second she was stuck in this room HELPLESS...she was going to take it out of Hebert's hide twice over.

She swore that. Unnoticed by everyone present inculding Sophia herself, a vase two rooms down cracked.


End file.
